She coughed. 

 

Where am I? 

 

Cosima received a dusty answer: background chatter, mechanical and systematic beeping, and a sharp pain chewing at her being. Her gut wrenched, and her scraggy body jolted at the sly pools of light overflowing her sockets.

 

She didn’t think she was delusional—this much light was hallucinatory. From what she could piece together, a shred of light was all she was used to. 

 

However, the more she awoke, the more the cottony foam of the bed below her became familiar.

 

It felt like home—the sacred bedroom where her waning mind wondered and wandered.

 

Then—if she could squint and be gullible enough to fall for tricks of light—she could imagine the blinding lights dousing her from spotlights hanging over her like shower heads. The light would glisten, bounce off her porcelain skin, and bless onlookers’ bright eyes.

 

It would make her a star.

 

But the more she awoke, the more squinting and being gullible scarred her. Reality blinded her sockets like the sun; she got too close. Her delusions burnt up, and she blazed the more she attempted to move and stand her ground in the spotlight.

 

Then she came crashing down to earth, her head tilting to see her limp purple arms on the bed. Within the crater of defeat, her crater-faced frown stung, leaving her lightheaded at her grandiose thoughts. 

 

Torturing herself with faraway dreams, she must’ve been a glutton for punishment, but her skinny frame could barely fill up her bed or the shoes she used to fill in her prime.

 

Her vision cleared, and everything became grandiose—larger than she could ever become. The light shower turned cold.

 

“Ugh…” Cosima droned, the cold air brushing her skin. She shuffled shakily in her bed, the white of a tent’s canopy coming into view. Her head dawdled to the right on her pillow. She studied the concrete floor and the flapping walls of the tent, capturing tufts of grass on the other side of the tent walls as the wind blew.

 

Outside?

 

The shuffling of feet filled her ears, accompanied by trollies rolling and hurried voices and orders. 

 

There were other distant sounds. The whirring of machines. The wailing of pained strangers. The bumble of a hellish night. 

 

Sirens, too.

 

She wished she could block out the sounds, shrugging tightly in a futile attempt to block out the truth. But her ability to desire dissipated the more she understood her surroundings.

 

Everything clicked slower than it should’ve.

 

Hospital. Oh.

 

Her brain clicked faster.

 

Sin!

 

Before frantically looking around, a deep voice struck her from her right side.

 

“Cos…” The pause was loud and raspy. “You awake?”

 

“Yes! I’m here!” Cosima shook at the scare, tilting her body painfully to her right side. 

 

Infusion pumps. Heart monitors. Many other medical trinkets stood within her gaze.

 

But she couldn’t care; he was alive.

 

“Sin, thank—”

 

She faced him fully.

 

No…

 

Cosima wouldn’t be lying if she said she hadn’t seen the light of her life at his lowest moments. But lying on his bare chest in a hospital bed, Sinjin was a dark sight. 

 

No…

 

The tortoise shell wasn’t there. But it left behind a wasteland on the fleshy terrain. Countless cysts and boils bubbled from his back, on the verge of geysering thick pus into the air. Bleeding blisters surrounded tubes that punctured his skin, and his sombre expression bled into her mind.

 

Her mind flashed to his bloodcurdling breakdown back in the accident.

 

No, no, no…

 

She didn’t know what sounds she was making. But her hoarse voice shuddered, trying to piece an emotion together, not knowing how to progress and tackle what was in front of her. She was being loud; she didn’t even know if she was crying. 

 

She kept croaking his name, trembling at the cold, callous croaking of the wind and bubbles on her lover’s back.

 

Her mind repeatedly flashed back to the accident, the memory a devilish wart that spiked her discomfort.

 

A danger rose in her throat, and before she knew it, she was coughing up hot mucus onto her palms.

 

“Cosimama, are you ok?” Sinjin asked, his voice scarred and deprived of life. He shifted his bulk on the sheets just enough to get a better view of Cosima on the other bed. “The nurse said that she’d be back in a bit.”

 

Why…Why’s he always worrying about me first?

 

She stared at her palms, wet with a slimy green and paralyzed by the frigidity of her surroundings. Her mouth hung agape, sputtering incoherent cries like a broken record.

 

“Don’t be too loud, ok? Be mindful of other patients.” He hid more of his face in his arms, his words coming out as a rough mumble. All she could see was a bloodshot eye. “I’m not dead. I’m alright. Yep.”

 

She swore one of the boils had just burst again on his back; she wanted to throw up. She had to throw up the stuck words.

 

“But Sin, those boils are no joke!” Cosima said in a quick burst, failing to sit upright and falling flat onto the bed.

 

“Yes, I know they aren’t. I ain’t laughing.” His dry humor came with a dry cough. “But we’re alive, thank God—”

 

“Sin—”

 

“We are so effing lucky to be the ones struck by some random attack,” Sinjin said with sarcasm tinged in his words, swinging his swollen arm over the bedside. His voice was as monotonous as the singing instruments towering over him. “Our car’s hopefully not destroyed. And on top of that, we’re now stuck in American healthcare. Amazing.”

 

He flailed his arm towards a nearby stand sitting in the middle of the beds, holding two cracked phones on top of it. He wouldn’t allow Cosima to speak. Once again, she was left watching him take some sort of initiative.

 

He’s ranting again.

 

“Gotta buy you a new—”he released a hefty, tired breath—”phone as well. I think I… I think I pushed you a bit too hard… or something—”

 

“I can buy it myself—worry about yourself—”

 

“You should probably call your parents and tell them that you’re ok—”

 

“Sin, listen—”

 

The entrance flaps of the tent flung open, a chilly draft icing the already freezing tension within the tent. Cosima sank into herself, hiding her face behind her hood and arms, as a nurse swept into the tent, armored with protective gear. The noises of the night peaked, the bumbling of vehicles and road work lacing with the hospital hubbub. The tent flaps neared their close, shutting away the sight of staff speeding near other tents and SDD officers on standby.

 

The tent entrance shut, the cold air settling like dust.

 

“Ah, you’re awake, Miss…” The nurse trailed off on her last word as she checked the pumps plugged into Sinjin’s back.

 

“Cosima,” Sinjin answered casually, noticing Cosima’s seclusive position. 

 

“Cosima. I see.” The nurse stretched her back out, approaching another stand where a rag sat. She fastened her mask, picking at the rag before grabbing it fully and kneeling at Cosima’s level. The nurse gently pulled the woman’s arm towards her, opening her gangly hands and cleaning the mucus. Cosima would relent, but she read the nurse’s face. The latter’s eyes drooped, dark bags weighing them down behind the visors, focusing on the task. “I’m Aiza. You didn’t sustain many injuries. I’m sure it’s just some soreness, especially from your frail body.”

 

Cosima’s breath hitched. A few minutes ago, she still would’ve been whisked away in a torrent of delusion, believing she was at her peak. However—as always—she had to bite the bullet and the reality sandwich. But the words were still knives, twisting into her and leaving her bitter and twisted. With all the twists and turns in her life, she wished to twist her fate and return to the past.

 

But as of now, that was pure fiction.

 

“You were also coughing up a dark green mucus in your sleep.” Aiza chucked the used rag to the ground, grabbed another rag, and wetted it in a water basin between the two beds. She pulled the rag out, twisting it with gloved hands before handing it to Cosima. Her voice had a weary lilt. “Very dark green. It’s as if your body is trying its hardest to fight off a terrible infection.”

 

Cosima fiddled with her wet towel, scrubbing at her fingers in stiff movements. It was warm, gnawing at the ice on her shaking fingers. It couldn’t gnaw at the purple.

 

“You grew a tortoise shell, sir,” Aiza said, facing Sinjin’s direction while rotating and stretching her right arm. The man didn’t respond. He simply nodded, letting his blank yet exhausted stare linger. The nurse then looked at Cosima. “The hospital can perform DNA tests, but I guess you also have animal DNA in you, too, right?”

 

Cosima didn’t respond; she attempted to dodge the nurse’s gaze. Aiza kept on, seemingly too low-energy to wait for a response.

 

“The mucus is both too slimy and too green. So, that’s”—the nurse yawned—”that. We deal with people like both of you all the time, obviously. Fusing with animals and all that isn’t respected by authorities, but as long as you both aren’t using these genetics for crime, you’re… decently good.”

 

Cosima felt she was cleaning away some wrong for the second time that week, furiously wiping a mildly tainted slate clean. Aiza took the towel from her; her hands were clean, right?

 

Is it really that bad?

 

“Sir, I forgot to ask. Is this the first time the shell has appeared?” the nurse asked, assessing Sinjin’s bumpy back with squinting eyes.

 

“Yes. It is.” Sinjin answered as if he were admitting to a crime. “But the weird cysts have been there since the radiation. I gotta be careful with how I sit… and all that.”

 

“Ah, ‘kay.” Aiza yawned behind her mask again, holding up her visors and wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve. She fastened the eyewear and straightened herself. “‘Ok. You could enlist for abscess incision and drainage treatment if these cysts are giving you problems. You still have bumps on your back, but I’m sure we could drain the discharge and hope they stay out of the way for good.”

 

Cosima sensed Sinjin’s cogs turning; he was tapping the rim of his bed with a messy rhythm.

 

“The procedure involves the use of a topical anaesthetic. So it’s pretty much painless.”

 

He should accept. No doubt there.

 

Sinjin’s cogs kept turning.

 

“Sir?”

 

They stopped.

 

“Painless…” Sinjin slurred, taking in a breath. “That sounds nice, but I’ll decline.”

 

“How could you—”

 

“I may consider it later,” Sinjin interjected, silencing Cosima and putting her into quiet confusion. “But right now, considering how packed the hospital is, the procedure may be a bit too pricey for me. Or the big spending from the government is lowering that price. I dunno… but I ain’t up to it now.”

 

Goodness sake.

 

“Fair enough reason. I’d argue against declining it… But if it’s financial concerns, I won’t stop you.” Aiza picked at her gloves and sat in a chair near the tent’s entrance. “You should stay here until around tomorrow afternoon. I’ll prescribe some antibiotics for your cyst and back pains for tomorrow.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Cosima would give a thousand thanks if she could easily erase her defects, as her boyfriend could. Even if it were a temporary fix that frequently needed curing, permanent damnation was worse. The world twisted into a fantastical hellscape that the economy couldn’t handle. But there wasn’t a medicine that could mend her into prime form, especially one she could buy with hard money. 

 

She glanced at her skin again as if she hadn’t done it for the millionth time since she was cursed. 

 

There’s only really one cure to turn to.

 

“Ma’am, you should probably stay here too,” Aiza said, stretching her arms out. Cosima looked up from her arms. “Your body is still weak from the events of today, so I’ll also”—she yawned—”treat you. Besides, especially in times like these, you and sir are the best emotional support for one another, so it’s good that you stay. Morale is important.”

 

Is the way to this one cure moral?

 

“My Cosimamamama is all I need,” Sinjin jested with a broken sing-song voice before coughing dryly. 

 

That brought her out of her incurable thoughts: she noticed the extra ‘mama’. She turned to give him a questioning look, which he was already searching for as his gaze was already trained on her, preying on her reaction. Even with her near-unreadable face, he knew what she was thinking and chuckled into his arms.

 

The joke wasn’t his best work, but seeing him still be able to be goofy in the state he was in gave her some relief. It was a light relief; she knew she’d be back to swimming in the depths of her mind again. But she wouldn’t lie and think that it wasn’t golden. Anything from him was.

 

She mustered a cracked smile. 

 

He definitely still wants to say more, but glad he’s ok.

 

“Well, that’s good, haha.” Aiza let out a muffled chuckle before a rapid beep sounded. The nurse shook off the warmth of her surroundings, discarding her weariness for proactiveness as she handled a buzzer strapped to her waist. “Oh, need to head out to run some errands. I’ll be back to provide anything you guys need. Please excuse me.”

 

“Alright, thank you, nurse,” Sinjin said.

 

“Thank you,” Cosima said after. She wasted no time and began thinking about her present situation.

 

“No problem. It’s my job.” Aiza tugged at the tent’s entrance, the sounds from outside seeping through the cracks. “And it’s also my job to provide some much-needed advice.”

 

Both of the patients lingered in thought but still kept their ears open. The nurse turned her head towards them, her dire gaze piercing the visors.

 

“You may have your reasons for taking part in harmonization and all that. But… as a medic dealing with others’ problems firsthand, I’ll advise one thing… and hopefully you listen.”

 

She flung the tent flaps open, and cold air pooled into the tent.

 

“Stick to what you have now. Don’t try to push your bodies further.”

 

And with that, she was out of the tent and into the cold.

 

Just like that, the words froze Cosima’s mind into stagnancy.